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by Reuven Lifshutz translated by Roslyn Bresnick-Perry

A good morning, people passing,
Throw us a crust of bread!
Then God will send his blessing;
And from want you will be shed.

I once had a father, mother,
Three pretty sisters so dear:
They're gone with smoke and fire,
And I am left all alone here.

I play the barrel organ,
I play with courage and skill,
Tomorrow Treblinka may beckon,
Oh, there we'll become an ash hill.

Our hunger is our torment,
With the dead the roads are paved,
Oh, Jews- you children of mercy,
One still wants to live out the day.

My voice the air disperses
From morning till late at night,
May the ghetto drown in our curses,
And with it those builders of blight.

So I play the barrel organ,
Lessening our pain and distress,
For better than going to Treblinka-
Is falling in battle and death.

Source: Mlotek, p. 34.

The Children's Choir of the Warsaw Ghetto
Source: SWC Archives #91-149

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